


Dressing Up

by Siubhan



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Gen, poem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-10-30 22:57:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10886661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siubhan/pseuds/Siubhan
Summary: During Quadromania





	Dressing Up

-Daily Chronicle- 

Actor crippled by hit – run driver at the intersection of 4th and Main.  
Mere hours after Lionel Fitzgerald the Third’s stunning debut.   
It is quit certainly the end of what promised to be a most brilliant career on the American stage. 

Pray do not mock me; I’m a very foolish and fond old man; with my spiteful revenge plan.  
To deal plainly, I fear I’m not in my perfect mind, their death sentences are signed.

Devil’s apostle of principle  
This sixty year old skid row cripple  
Is in disguise and improvise  
Long hair Caucasian, uses one hand to make a lesion  
Murderous wrangler, who’s an one arm strangler

Hateful. I’m full of fury.  
I play the grand jury.  
Scene seven, act four.  
Put them all in a cold store.

And I reappear, in King Lear.  
Alleyway of ‘The Savoy’. Is my springboard for destroy, my stage I enjoy.  
Five in a fleet of fifty.  
Action my right hand nifty.

As Toulouse Lautrec,  
I play my third come-back.  
Revenge on Clark, Hobson and O’Conners.  
Their death for my dishonour.

The noise of the snapping vertebrae.  
Is the ode, to my individual cabaret.  
Ready for new bloodshed.  
Another big night ahead, with an owner of an old checker hack.

Starsky you’re a godforsaken fool to take the application.  
For this criminal police investigation.  
It is my fate: To be the bait.  
I drive through the Red light district.  
In pursue of the convict.  
The end of my shift and I give an old lady a lift.  
To his delight,  
I’m chosen for a burial site.

Hit by his execution arm machine.  
My head bangs against the screen  
The stranglehold, makes my body uncontrolled.  
Scraping sounds of a crane,  
I grip on; skip and chain.  
With over strained heart rate,  
I crawl upon the crate.

Common sense a blur.  
But as it seems to occur.  
The screeching tires, I do admire.  
K.C and Hutch with a rescue stop.  
On time, set free by my dearest cop.


End file.
